


Bonjou

by Capucine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, OC, States, mixed race character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When America tries to relearn French, he reminds France of an old colony of his: Louisiana. France wonders how Louisiana feels about him now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonjou

“Arrete.”

America’s thick American accent made France cringe a little.

“You very much haven’t mastered your R’s,” he sighed, and then added, “Also, it has accent marks for a reason, America, and since you’re addressing me, you’re not using the right conjugation.”

America groaned. “Aw, seriously? I used to be able to speak it so much better.”

“You’ve really let it leak out of your head,” France said, looking at America with a sort of pitying smile.

“Yeah. Well, you try being a little fluent in like everything, and then try to keep your languages straight,” America said, drinking his soda. He grinned over at France. “You’re only good at English and French, right?”

France shrugged. “Actually, I also speak Latin. Church Latin, at least.”

America raised his eyebrows. “Really? Why’s that?”

France smiled at him, eyes seeming to see a far distant past. “It was all part of being educated back then. Plus, you know, it’s not so different from French; French is based on Latin, except it sounds better.”

America laughed, saying, “Yeah, sure. And English is based on German.”

“It kind of… Never mind,” France sighed, seeing that, while America could be said to dabble in the most languages, it was highly unlikely he understood etymology or anything like that. “So, what makes you want to learn French so badly?”

“Well…” America scratched the back of his neck, then finally admitted, “It’s for someone I know. She likes to switch to it to bother me.”

“Oh? Would this person be, by any chance, Seychelles?” France said, reviewing in his mind any time he’d seen the two together; not a lot showed up.

America laughed, then looked embarrassed, then shrugged and said, “No, no. You know her better than you think. ‘member Lou?”

“Who-- oh.” France was brought back to old memories of a girl with light brown skin, curls in her hair and a pretty pink dress on. He would never allow one of his territories, especially a girl, to go without something nice to wear, at least on special occasions. “I do remember Louisiana.”

He was quiet a moment. Canada had always resisted his attempts to beautify him, but Louisiana had been different. She had always wanted his fingers in her hair, doing it prettily; he’d learned quickly not to yank through it with a brush, the curls were always spoiled and Louisiana cried. She’d always been turning about and saying, “Am I pretty from this side? What about from this side?”

“Yeah, well, she always cusses up a storm at me in French, and I wanna get back at her,” America said, looking as earnest as ever. “And plus, French is lingual franca, right?”

France raised his eyebrows. “‘Lingua Franca’ is the term, America, and it no longer applies, unfortunately.” He still felt a little animosity towards England and America for that, but that was forgotten as soon as he remembered something rather vital to America’s plan. “America, have you ever heard of things like dialects and such?”

“You mean, saying stuff like ‘Butter my butt and call me a biscuit, y’all--’” 

“Sort of, yes,” France cut him off. “But I must tell you, Louisiana doesn’t speak French proper. I doubt we could even communicate; she speaks a creole language, which means two languages combined.”

“Aw, shit,” America groaned, “Now I have to learn two languages.”

“No, you still just have to learn Creole,” France said, then he asked, “How is she doing, by the way?”

“Oh, you know, making gumbo, fishing, preparing for Mardi Gras, all those Lou things,” America said, then he made an ‘oh’ noise. “That’s right, she’s also doing a lot of paperwork, just like the rest of us. I told my states they should try to read the Affordable Healthcare Act, and I’m hoping they’ll be able to brief me on it when they’re done.”

While that was remarkably lazy, France didn’t comment on it. “Does she ever talk about me?”

“Hm?” America sounded surprised by that one. His face crinkled up a bit. “Why would-- Oh…”

France didn’t take that as a good sign.

“Oh, she talks about you sometimes. Sometimes even to Canada, though they don’t interact much. Like, ‘France would never put salt and pepper on my gumbo, America!’ Stuff like that. Why?” America was watching him more curiously now.

“Mm. So she’s doing well?” France said, sitting back in his chair.

“Yeah, I guess.” America looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. “So, why all the questions about Lou?”

France sighed. “I… guess she meant something to me, back in the day. I never acted like she was as precious as some of my other colonies, but she still mattered. Sometimes I think she hates me for giving her up.”

“Whoa, whoa, no,” America said, raising his hands. “Dude, she doesn’t hate you. Why would she keep speaking your language if she hated you?”

“It’s creole,” France pointed out, but America just laughed.

“Trust me, she holds us all up to higher standards because of you. If you want, I can say hi to her for you,” America said, grinning at France.

“Thank you,” France said, adding, “You’re sure she’s okay with me?”

“Yes, I am.” America patted France’s shoulder. “You did a good job with her, you know. She is one of the better-mannered states.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” France replied. He thought of her, the preteen he’d known before he traded her to America for money. He wished he hadn’t, in some ways.

America stood and stretched. “Well, I gotta get going. You take care, kay?”

“I will,” France said.

It was hardly three days later that he got an email.

_Dear France,_

_Bonjou. America has told me that you were concerned about me, and I thought it would be good to make things clear._

_For starters, I don’t hate you. I was upset, a little, when you traded me for money; that’s long past. I understand why you did what you did, and why you had not a lot of choice about it. It’s okay; like Canada, I’ve learned to get over it. I don’t blame you, and I’m not angry._

_I do thank you for taking care of me as long as you did. I know that you were a busy man, but you still put in time to visit me and get to know me. It means a lot; I still have one of the pretty lace dresses you gave me when I was still little._

_It took a while to figure out this email, because I wanted you to know that I still care about you, and you are an important figure in my life. It wasn’t so rough a transition between being a territory of yours and then being a territory of America’s; I really did all right._

_I would like it if you would come to visit some time. Send me an email, and we’ll figure it out._

_Bonswa,  
Louisiana_


End file.
